Life vs Charlie
by FraidyCat
Summary: Back to Charlie whumping, soon to be declared an Olympic sport.
1. Chapter 1

****

Title: Life Vs. Charlie

Author: FraidyCat

Genre: Drama, Angst

Time line: Any Time is Good For Me

Summary: I whump Charles. It's what I do.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Drat the luck.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Chapter 1**

He walked on shaky legs to the waiting area at the front of the clinic, and the orderly indicated a spot near the window. "You can wait here for your ride," he offered, and Charlie gratefully sank into the overstuffed chair. "Would you like some water? The doctor said you can sip small amounts. As the local wears off, you'll probably find your throat getting sore."

Charlie shook his head silently. His throat _would_ get sore? And what was it now? He was still a little fuzzy, and he didn't really hear the orderly say good-bye and leave. He just suddenly found himself clutching nearly a ream of papers that someone had handed him, blinking into the beam of sunlight that came through the window. He tried to think.

Don.

He looked at his watch. It was past the time that he had asked Don to pick him up. Uh-oh. That couldn't be good. He wrestled the cell phone from his pocket and turned it back on, now that he was out of the treatment area. Ah. Voice mail. He lifted the phone to his ear.

"Charlie, hey Buddy. I'm on the way, but I got called out on a case this morning and I'm stuck on the interstate trying to get back. Must be an accident up ahead, nothing is moving. If it looks like I'll be very late, I'll try to get a hold of Larry. Maybe he can pick you up." Don sighed. "I wish you had given me a little notice, so I could have taken the day off… or that you had told Dad about this; you know he would have dropped out of the tournament and gone with you. Anyway, hang in, okay? I'll get someone there as soon as I can."

Charlie returned the phone to his pocket, fumbling with it a little. He was getting a headache to go along with his sore throat. He looked at his watch again. Don was almost 45 minutes late; the endoscopic prodedure had taken longer than it was supposed to. He rubbed his forehead. Don was right — Dad would have dropped out of his golf tournament and come with Charlie, waited for him — and that's why he hadn't told him. Dad loved this tournament. He'd been playing with the same foursome in it for almost 20 years, and it was for a good cause, the American Cancer Society. The tournament and its beneficiary had become even more important to him in the years since his wife's illness and death. He did everything he could to support cancer research now.

Charlie kept rubbing his head. He still felt a little loopy. He would call a cab, but the clinic had some kind of policy about that. Insisted that a family member or friend actually pick you up. Don wasn't going to reach Larry. Well, maybe he would — but it wouldn't do him any good. Larry was out of town this week at a physics consortium being held at the University of New Mexico. Charlie had been up until four in the morning for three consecutive nights before Larry left, double- and triple-checking the equations in the paper Larry was scheduled to present. That was probably one reason he was so exhausted now.

That, and the 5-foot-long tube shoved down his throat, the 20-guage needle full of sedative, the unexpected cauterization and the gastroenterologist's almost casual use of the word "biopsy" during their conflab in his office when the procedure was finally over. That kind of stuff could tire a guy out.

He looked at the papers, which he was now holding in both hands, although he couldn't really remember lowering his hand from his head. Three pages of dietary instructions. A computer print-out of today's endoscopic experience and potential side effects. Half a pound of detailed gastric ulcer information. Several prescriptions. A card with his next appointment. Had he talked to someone about all this stuff? He couldn't remember that, either.

He cleared his throat and winced, immediately regretting it.

Charlie wanted to be home. He wanted to be in bed. He wanted a quart of strawberry ice cream. He wanted to not be such a wuss.

A shadow loomed over him, breaking into the warmth and light of the sunbeam, and Charlie discovered that his eyes were closed.

"Hey, Buddy, I'm sorry…" Don sat down next to him, somewhat breathless. "I hurried…" He looked at Charlie. "You're looking a little rough around the edges, Bro. You sure you're okay to go?"

Charlie blinked a few times. As post-procedure time went on, he seemed to be getting more tired. What kind of sense did that make? He smiled wanly at Don and nodded, started to get out of the chair. After two attempts, Don finally relented and helped him up. "Seriously, Buddy. You okay?"

Charlie nodded again.

Don persisted. "Can I have an actual word?"

"Hurts," Charlie rasped out. "Home now."

Don draped an arm over Charlie's shoulders and guided him toward the door. He shook his head in sympathy. "Sorry. I don't know much about these endo things. I didn't think about your throat hurting." Charlie was listing his way. "Should they let you go when you're this shaky? I thought the anesthetic would be worn off by now." He pushed the clinic door open and was glad he had found a parking space near the front. Still, Charlie was leaning into him heavily enough that he led him to a bench near a turn-around in the clinic driveway, and sat them both down.

Charlie swallowed. "Took longer," he whispered.

Don tried to fill in the blanks. "It took longer than they thought it would?" Charlie nodded. "Complications? They had to do more than they intended?" Charlie nodded again, and yawned, trying to stifle it and keep his mouth from opening. Don stood again. "Look, you wait here. I'll bring the car around."

A few minutes later, and Charlie managed to climb in the SUV on his own. When it seemed apparent that he had forgotten what a seatbelt was, Don buckled him in and then started for the house. Charlie held up a fist full of paper. "Prescriptions?" Charlie nodded, then leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. By the time Don stopped at the pharmacy about a mile from the house, Charlie was solidly asleep. Don touched his hand to Charlie's forehead and didn't feel a fever, so he let him sleep, pried the prescriptions out of his hand and went in to fill them himself. Because this pharmacy was so close to home, Charlie had been here before, and all of his information was on file. Still, by the time everything was filled, Don had been there for almost half an hour, glancing anxiously out the window at Charlie, still asleep in the SUV. He barely listened while a pharmacist gave him instructions about a COX-2 inhibitor, an antibiotic, an antacid and something called a H2 blocker. Once he heard that Charlie didn't have to take any of it this evening, he figured they'd just figure it out together in the morning.

On the way back to the SUV, Don called Megan and let her know he wouldn't be back to the office this afternoon. His Dad usually had dinner with his foursome after the tourney, and probably wouldn't be back until late. No way was Don leaving Charlie alone at the house. When he was back behind the wheel, he picked up some of the other papers Charlie had been holding, most of which had slipped onto the floorboards by now.

He found himself looking at dietary guidelines. He glanced at his brother — still sleeping — then exited the SUV again to run into the small convenience store next to the pharmacy.

Fifteen minutes later he stopped in the driveway of Charlie's house. He took all the papers, the prescriptions and the bag from the store into the kitchen, then went back to the vehicle and opened the passenger door. He unbuckled Charlie and shook his shoulder lightly. "Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up. We're home." Charlie opened his eyes slowly, and blinked at Don in confusion. Don couldn't help a small laugh at the look. It was obvious Charlie didn't know his own house from a hole in the ground. Even as he laughed, he felt frustration rise within him. Why did Charlie do things like this? Why had he tried to tough this out alone? Hadn't Don always taken care of Charlie? Why did his brother feel like he couldn't count on him? "Come on," he said tenderly, and he helped Charlie slide out of the SUV and held his arm until he felt him regain some balance. They walked slowly into the house, through the kitchen entry. "I can help you upstairs," Don offered, then indicated the kitchen table. Two bowls and spoons sat on it, alongside a quart of non-fat strawberry ice cream. "Unless you'd like some dinner first?"

Charlie focused bleary eyes on the ice cream, and a sound involuntarily escaped him. He sat down carefully at the table, eyes still on the ice cream.

"Don," he rasped out, "you are the best brother in the entire universe."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Alan was pleased to see Don's SUV in the driveway when he finally got home after 9 that evening. He knew his son remembered the golf tournament — they had talked about it just yesterday — so he must have purposely come to the house just to have dinner with Charlie. Alan was happy whenever Don stopped by, or went out with him and Charlie, but sometimes he worried that his two boys didn't spend that much personal time together without him in the equation. It warmed his heart, that they had chosen to spend the evening together. He stood at the kitchen entry, fumbling with the lock, and frowned. Unless, of course, Don was just here to get Charlie to do some work for him.

He pushed open the door to find his eldest sitting alone at the kitchen table, surrounded by papers. His frown deepened. Maybe Don was just here with some work. "Hey, Donnie."

Don looked up from the paper he was reading with a tight smile. "Dad. How was the tournament?"

Alan's frown reversed itself. "Great. As usual. Someday, I'll get you and Charlie to play it with me. Some of the guys are getting pretty…ripe. I'm not sure how many years this foursome has left."

Don laughed. "Good luck with that, Dad. You know how Charlie feels about golf."

Alan sat opposite Don at the table. "What? He told me he loves golf. He's just not very good at it."

"True," Don acknowledged with a tilt of his head. His Dad didn't need to know that Charlie only played with him to make him happy, to give Alan an opportunity to be the teacher, for once. "I guess a charity event would be good for him. He would agree that it doesn't really matter how good you are, it only matters that the charity benefit…"

Alan nodded his head. "Exactly. So maybe next year, the two of you will join me."

"Sounds good, Dad. Colby plays too, if we need a fourth."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Excellent. I was worried Charlie might bring Larry, and I'd be trapped on the course between a mathemetician and a physicist."

Don laughed again and Alan reached for one of the papers. "What are you reading? Did you bring Charlie some work, or did the two of you just socialize tonight?"

Don stopped Alan's hand with his own. The laughter had left his voice and his tone was suddenly serious. "Dad."

One word.

One syllable.

Unbelievable, the power it had. Alan jerked his hand back as if Don's were a rattlesnake. "What?" He couldn't keep the apprehension from his own voice.

"Charlie…Charlie had a…a procedure, today. I don't know why he didn't tell you, probably because he knows how much you enjoy this tournament…"

Alan felt himself growing cold. "A procedure? What do you mean, a procedure?"

Don sighed. "Look, he didn't tell me much, either. Called at 10 o'clock last night and asked me to pick him up at a clinic this afternoon, said he was having a simple diagnostic thing, but the clinic insisted that someone pick him up. He apologized all over the place."

"What was it?" Alan's voice sounded like a whine in his own ears.

Don looked back at the papers. "An… 'upper GI endoscopy'. I was just reading about it. Doesn't look all that pleasant. Charlie was pretty out of it when I picked him up. They used a local, but apparently the thing took longer than they anticipated…anyway, I stopped on the way home and bought him some strawberry ice cream. His throat was pretty raw, I could barely get a few syllables out of him." Don smiled briefly. "He fell asleep on the way home, but he woke up soon enough when he saw the ice cream." He waved a hand toward the counter next to the refrigerator and Alan noticed a pharmacy bag for the first time. "Had a lot of prescriptions, but the pharmacist said to let him sleep tonight, and start them tomorrow."

Alan stood as if he were going to the bag, but then stopped and sat down again. "What are they for?"

"Dad, I swear, Charlie has said maybe 10 words since I picked him up. But he had all these papers with him. There's a bunch of stuff about gastric ulcers in here."

At least Alan had something to do, now. He got angry. "Your brother has an ulcer? Donnie, it's too much stress. Helping you on your cases. There's so much stress already in his teaching, his own work…my God, the stress level of never being able to turn that brain off alone must be astronomical."

Don interrupted him. "They don't believe that about ulcers anymore, Dad. They're actually an infection, caused by some bacteria…" He searched through the papers again. "Helicobacter pylori. One of the prescriptions is for antibiotics."

Alan stood again, still angry. "I don't care what some paper says. Stress makes anything worse, you know that. Break your leg, and it won't heal as quickly if you're under too much stress."

Don quietly laid all the papers back on the table and stood to face his father. "Of course. You're right. I can see that, Dad. But Charlie…Charlie is a stress factory. I'm not sure how much I can help. Remember, he doesn't just consult for me…"

Alan started walking, and spoke dismissively. "Well, he has to stop. He can't make himself sick with all his…" He pushed open the swinging door and headed for the stairs. "I want to see him. Is he in his room?"

Don was close behind him. "Yeah. It's been about 20, 25 minutes since I checked on him."

The two men thundered up the stairs, and stopped together outside Charlie's room. The door stood slightly ajar, and Alan pushed it gently open. When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that his son's bed was empty. He looked with confusion over his shoulder at Don. "Where is he?"

Don was focused on the bathroom door at the end of the hall. "I think I heard…" The rest of his sentence was punctuated by the solid thump of a body hitting the floor, and the two rushed for the bathroom. Don reached the door first. He knocked on it while he twisted the handle, calling out to Charlie. "Buddy, I'm coming in…" Opening the door, he froze. Charlie lay on his side on the floor, his body shivering so hard it looked as if he were having convulsions. His arms were clutched around his stomach. Vomit that looked like coffee grounds surrounded him and dripped down the side of the toilet he had been aiming for. Alan pushed past Don and dropped to his knees in the vomit, put his hand on Charlie's face.

"Dear God," he said, and looked up at Don. "He's burning up. Call 9-1-1." Don just stood in the doorway, unable at first to make anything move. Alan raised his voice. "DONALD ALAN. CALL 9-1-1. DO IT NOW." The tone of his father's voice reached him, and Don grabbed the cell phone off his belt and placed the call with one hand, while he soaked several towels in cold water with the other. Disconnecting, he joined his father on the floor. When he looked at Charlie, he saw that he wasn't unconscious, as he had assumed. Instead, his brother looked back at him, eyes wide and frightened. Gingerly Don used the end of a towel to wash Charlie's face.

"Shhh, Buddy, just relax," he started, trying to make his voice as steady and soothing as possible. "It's okay. You're okay." He felt Charlie tremble beneath him. "We've got you, Buddy. We've got you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

While EMTs were assessing Charlie's condition in the bathroom, Don ran back downstairs and found the doctor's appointment card. Obviously whatever this joker had done today had gone horribly wrong. He phoned the doctor's service and told them it was an emergency, gave them Charlie's name and his own cell number. Then he disconnected and waited six agonizing minutes at the bottom of the stairs for the doctor to call him back. By the time the phone sounded, the EMTs were carefully lowering Charlie down on a stretcher. Don wanted to lend his weight to the effort, but he knew these guys were trained for this sort of thing and had their own rhythm — he would only be in the way. So he backed away from the stairs and took the call.

"Eppes."

"This is Dr. Reynolds. I received a message from my service regarding Charles Eppes?"

"Right. I'm his brother. Charlie has a high fever and is vomiting some weird-looking stuff…EMTs are here, they're going to transport him to…"

"Huntington," the doctor interrupted. "Tell them to go to Huntington Memorial. I have privileges there, and their Emergency Department is top notch. I'll meet you."

Don disconnected again and relayed the information to the EMTs, who nodded. He pulled his car keys out of his pocket. "Dad, I'll drive…" he started to offer, but Alan, holding one of Charlie's hands, waved Don off with the other.

"I'm going with Charlie," he said tersely. "You've done enough already."

Don, walking on the other side of the stretcher with a hand on Charlie's shoulder, almost didn't hear him, at first, but as they reached the back of the ambulance and he stepped aside again to allow the EMTs some room, the words registered. He had done enough already? Did his father think this was his fault, somehow? He looked at his father, but Alan was being helped into the bus by an EMT. He settled on the bench near Charlie's head and Don could see his lips moving, but he couldn't hear what he was saying. Alan didn't look up again before the doors were shut and the driver was sprinting for the front of the ambulance, and almost before he could process what was happening, Don was standing alone in the driveway, watching the flashing red lights recede down the street.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He had hit every red light between Charlie's house and Huntington, and even though he had run every one he safely could, the ambulance arrived long before Don did. He found a place to park and jogged into the ER, searching for his father.

He found him sitting forlornly in the waiting area.

"Dad." Don sat next to him.

"They wouldn't let me go back with him," Alan complained. "They said I should wait."

"Is his doctor here yet?"

"I don't think so."

Don inhaled a deep, steadying breath. "He's going to be all right, Dad."

Alan didn't answer. He hadn't even looked at Don, yet, and Don could feel the anger radiating off him. He squared his shoulders. Okay. Okay. If being angry at Don helped his Dad get through this, Don could take it. He wished he didn't have to, though…he could use a little reassurance here, himself. He found himself sitting right next to his father, wishing his father would show up and talk to him.

He was considering the absurdity of that when he saw a man headed down the hall in their direction. Determined stride, stethoscope around his neck. Don stood up. This had to be Charlie's doctor. Alan stood beside him. The man reached them and offered Alan his hand.

"Jim Reynolds," he said. "I'm Charlie's gastroenterologist." He led them to a more secluded section of the waiting area . "Let's sit," he said, and Don did, because suddenly his knees felt weak. A doctor looks at you and says "Let's sit", and whatever is coming next can't be good.

Alan finally sat as well, and then the doctor took a chair. "I've seen Charlie," he started, and looked at Alan. "Your son?" Alan nodded silently. "He's being prepped for emergency surgery now," he stated plainly. "He has developed a perforation of an ulcer, and is leaking acid into his abdominal cavity. A massive infection has already set in."

Alan gasped and Don heard himself protest. "But I had just checked on him a few minutes earlier…"

Dr. Reynolds nodded. "These situations can develop very quickly. The resulting pain and fever are sudden and intense. I'm sure you were keeping a close eye on him after today's procedure."

"What happened today?" asked Don. "He's been sleeping, not talking when he is awake, so we didn't really get the details…"

"I performed an upper GI endoscopy. It was intended to be diagnostic only, to determine the cause of his recent GI distress. But once I was in, I saw several gastric ulcers, one of which was actively bleeding. We used cautery on that ulcer. Until we open him up, I can't really tell you if that ulcer began to bleed again and perforated, or if it was one of the others…"

"I don't understand," interrupted Alan. "When did he get ulcers? How?" He answered his own question. "He's under too much stress."

"Actually, Charlie's lifestyle is definitely a contributing factor to his ulcers — and it's not just his stress level I'm concerned about. We talked about his sleep patterns and diet, as well. During today's procedure, my lab processed a tissue sample for bacteria, and there is an active _h pylori_ infection; I believe this is the root cause. I sent him home with a prescription to begin treatment for that. As far as the biopsy, those results will take up to a week. We'll sample more tissue for biopsy during his surgery, since we'll be in there anyway."

Don felt his heart plummet to his toes. No matter how long he lived, he never wanted to hear that word again — especially in connection with another family member. He looked at his father and saw that the color had drained from his face, so dramatically that the doctor became concerned.

"Mr. Eppes? Are you all right?"

Alan seemed to be struggling to speak. Don placed a hand on his father's arm, but Alan shrugged it off, finally managed to whisper. "Biopsy?"

The doctor frowned. "Yes, it's standard procedure in these cases…perhaps I should get you some water…"

Alan shook his head, but didn't say any more. The doctor still looked pretty concerned and confused, so Don spoke up. "It's just that…there's a genetic factor. Our mother…"

Dr. Reynolds' face softened. "Of course, I'm sorry. Charlie and I did discuss his family history; I didn't mean to frighten you. I assure you, Mr. Eppes, this is standard procedure. As I mentioned, Charlie has several contributing factors that have led to his ulcers. I don't expect the biopsy to reveal anything else."

Alan nodded, and his face regained some of its former color. He inhaled shakily. "What sort of surgery will he have?"

Dr. Reynolds seemed more comfortable with this line of discussion, and his businesslike manner resumed. "We're going to try a laproscopic procedure to close the perforation with sutures," he started, "and get a better look at the entire abdominal cavity. If we determine mid-procedure that we could do a more thorough job with a conventional open surgery, we may decide to switch. The laproscopic procedure actually takes longer than the conventional method, but Charlie's recovery time would be greatly reduced. I'd say 4 or 5 days of postoperative discomfort versus two weeks or more."

"Then you can fix everything — he'll be all right?"

Dr. Reynolds smiled briefly. "Charlie's prognosis is very good, Mr. Eppes."

Don found himself immediately disliking this guy's tone of voice. "But what?", he asked, and his father glanced at him and then back to the doctor.

"You must understand…Charlie has had a bleeding ulcer for an unknown amount of time, and now a perforation. He's lost a great deal of blood. He will need transfusions. He's in an extreme amount of pain. The combination of blood loss and pain has made him very weak, but he still has a major infection to fight off plus the original _h pylori_ infection. Charlie is very ill, I don't want to downplay that." He saw Alan paling again and hurried on. "But he's young, and aside from the ulcers in good physical shape. That will help."

Alan suddenly reached out and grasped the doctor's wrist. "You're doing this surgery?"

The doctor nodded. "Along with Huntington's surgical staff on call tonight."

Alan held onto his wrist and squeezed a little, locking eyes with the doctor. "Please," he said, but he found that he couldn't finish the sentence. He just looked into the doctor's eyes with his own watery ones and said it again. "Please."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Don looked at his watch.

8-and-a-half hours since he had picked Charlie up at the clinic.

4 hours since Alan had come home and they had found Charlie sick in the bathroom.

2 hours since the emergency surgery had begun.

1-and-a-half hours since Alan had spoken to him.

45 minutes since he had gone outside and walked around in the cool air, phoning Megan and waking her up, telling her not to count on his coming to the office later that morning.

23 minutes since the last time a nurse had come to the surgical waiting room to tell them things were going "as well as could be expected".

22 minutes spent thinking about what the hell that was supposed to mean.

17 minutes since his father had turned a page in the magazine he was holding.

7 minutes since Don had declared his coffee officially cold and thrown in away.

4 minutes since… "I just don't understand what you were thinking."

With difficulty Don pulled his mind off the passage of time and focused on his father's words. Dad was speaking to him again, but Don didn't quite get what he was saying. "When?"

Alan looked up from the magazine. "You should have told me. Or you should have made Charlie tell me."

"But…I…it…He said it was no big deal. And I can't make his decisions for him. He's 30 years old, Dad! As soon as I picked him up and saw what kind of shape he was in, I called in to work and stayed with him…" Don stopped talking. He was sounding like he had when he was 10 and his parents made him walk Charlie to school. Charlie had refused to hold his hand — not that Don had really pushed him on that — and he ran ahead, tripping over a tree root in the sidewalk and skinning both knees. Both his parents had been angry with him over that…

"…me on the course," Alan was saying, and Don tried to focus again. "I would have come home instead of going out for dinner."

"You heard the doctor, Dad. He was okay, this was sudden, unexpected…I didn't think I had to interrupt you…"

Alan threw the magazine angrily onto the table in front of him and glared at Don. "No. You didn't think. Your brother is sick, he…he had a _biopsy_ for God's sake, and you didn't think…"

"Tonight is the first I heard about that, too," interrupted Don quietly. "I said it before. Charlie is an adult. I can tell him he should tell you things, but I can't make him do it."

Alan's eyebrows arched. "Things? What else are you helping him hide from me?"

Don sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing, Dad, really…I just meant…" He was suddenly exhausted, and frightened, and 10 years old again. The despair in his own voice disgusted him. "Why are you so angry at me?"

Alan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again and stood, began wandering around the waiting area. He found that he couldn't answer Don right away, because he didn't understand himself why he was so angry. He started to think out loud, staring at the wall and not at Don. "My wife is gone," he said. "My oldest son insists on working the most dangerous job he can find. Every time I see him could be the last. My youngest son is pursued by mathematical demons every second of his life, never learned how to outrun them. Instead he embraces them, and follows them wherever they ask him to go. He's in as much danger as his brother…sometimes he's even standing next to his brother sharing the same danger. I could lose them both at once." He pivoted and looked at Don. "I'm angry because none of you have considered me. I'm angry because leaving me is just a side effect of your lives." Alan strode out of the waiting area, then, while Don sat in shocked silence.

He had never heard his father speak this way. Alan was the consummate optimist. He knew that his Dad worried — about Don's job, Charlie's 'demons', as he had just called them — but he had worried over them for so long that Don didn't really register it, anymore. It just was. Grass was green, sky was blue, Alan worried. Don hadn't realized how much it was costing Alan. When this was over, when Charlie was better, the two of them would have to talk about this. Maybe they had been selfish, chasing their own dreams to the exclusion of everything else. Maybe they hadn't been grateful enough for Alan, careful enough of him…

Don shivered a little and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Charlie would get better, He would. And then they could have a talk about the kind of sons they wanted to be. He would make Charlie understand the kind of brother he wanted to be, too. He didn't want to be called at 10 the night before Charlie needed a ride home from a biopsy he didn't even tell him about. He wanted to take him to the appointment, and sit in the waiting room, or go back with him and hold his hand, if he would let him. When their mother had been diagnosed with cancer, Don had uprooted himself from his life and job in Albuquerque to come back to L.A. and do whatever he could. If Charlie didn't know that he loved him that much too, then their father was right. Don had failed, somehow. He had let misunderstandings and old resentments take too much control over their relationship.

He was going to change that, he was. When this was over, when Charlie was better.

Don uncrossed his arms and looked at his watch again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It was after 3 in the morning before Dr. Reynolds appeared in the waiting room. Alan had come back about half-an-hour after he left. He didn't seem specifically angry at Don, anymore, but he was still distraught, and he was internalizing his anguish. It sometimes made Don laugh, how much alike his Dad and Charlie were in that regard. They both hated it when the other one would enter a funk and refuse to talk about something — but they both did it. It sometimes amused Don — but not tonight. Nothing was funny tonight.

The two Eppes men rose when the weary doctor entered the room. Too tired to be polite, Dr. Reynolds simply sank down in the closest chair he found, so Don and Alan sat down again as well.

The doctor smiled grimly. "I'm not going to sugar-coat this," he said. "That was grim…the size of Charlie's largest ulcer and the damage caused by the perforation was extensive. We were able to repair the stomach, but it's about two-thirds the size it should be, now. It's absolutely vital that we control his remaining ulcers."

"Were…" Don's voice sounded odd in his own ears and he cleared his throat. "Were you able to do it laproscopically?"

The doctor shrugged. "Not exactly. But it's not a full conventional opening, either. Sort-of something in-between. We tried to be as minimally invasive as possible."

"How is he? Can I see him?"

"He's in recovery, Mr. Eppes, and he'll be there for at least a few hours. He's already had four units of blood, and we have more in back-up if he fails to rally tomorrow. He's receiving a saline solution, an antibiotic 'cocktail' of three different antibiotics, intraveneous morphine for the next 12 to 24 hours or so. Then we'll try to switch him to Demerol. The more rest he can get, the better. Why don't you go home and get some rest yourselves…"

Both men shook their heads, and the doctor sighed. "Look, I almost got kicked out of my residency because I lacked bedside manner, so I'll just apologize right now for my abruptness. But the fact is that you guys will do Charlie more harm than good if you stay here tonight and insist on seeing him. He's gravely ill, but he pulled through the surgery and is in no immediate danger. If your concern is for him, it's safe — even best — to go home for a few hours. If your concern is for making yourselves feel better, than by all means, wait around until he's out of recovery."

Alan made a small noise and Don started to stand. "_Almost_ kicked out of your residency? I want to talk to the asshole who didn't kick you out when he should have!" He felt his father's arm pulling him down.

"Donnie, Donnie, he's right…"

Don sat down again and looked at his father. "But…"

Alan cupped Don's cheek. "I'm sorry, son. For everything. We have to do what's best for Charlie, now." Alan dropped his hand and looked at the doctor. "I'm sure the hospital will contact us if there's a change?"

Dr. Reynolds nodded. "Absolutely. And please understand, I know how badly you need to see him. I'm just asking you to wait a few hours." He looked at his watch. "It's 3:30 now. Come back at 10. Charlie should be settled in his own room by then."

Alan looked at his hands in his lap, holding each other. He stared at them for a moment, trying to figure out what was wrong with that picture, and then a light went off in his head and a barb was thrust into his heart. He shouldn't be holding his own hands.

He should be holding one of Don's.

Almost afraid of Don's reaction, he snuck one hand towards his son, closed his eyes and let his fingers move on automatic pilot. When they touched the warm skin on Don's hand, resting on his leg, Alan opened his eyes again and looked at him. "I…"

Don quickly moved to grasp his father's hand between both of his. "It's all right." He squeezed Alan's hand tighter, and Alan squeezed back. Don spoke again. "It's gonna be all right, Dad."

The two sat and held hands for awhile. Alan let the comfort of his son's touch travel up his arm and spill over his heart, and Dr. Reynolds knew that he had reached the point of no return in his tiredness when he could have sworn he saw a splash of light come off them.

Don gave his Dad's hand a shake and Alan looked at him again to see a small grin. Don stood and pulled Alan to his feet. "Come on, old man. I'll give you a ride home if you let me sleep in my old room."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Charlie watched the Ring Master, waiting for him to call the elephants to the center ring. If he would call for the elephants, then the one sitting on his chest would have to leave._

_A man selling cotton candy filtered past his line of sight, and Charlie looked further into the crowd to find one selling peanuts. If he could buy some peanuts, he could throw them away from himself, and maybe the elephant would leave then to go after them._

_His eye was drawn back to the cotton candy. It looked like strawberry ice cream on a stick. Maybe he should buy some of that. He didn't just want to eat a little, feel it melting down his burning throat, he wanted to lie in it. He was sure it was soft, and cold, and he was sore, and hot. It would feel good to lie in ice cream._

_He looked around for his mother. She would never send him to the circus alone — she knew the clowns scared him, a little. But he couldn't find her, and when he looked back at the man selling cotton candy, he was getting closer, and had turned into a clown. His face was an unnatural white, his bright red mouth unnaturally large, his hair unnaturally wild around his head and a neon shade of yellow that hurt Charlie's eyes and reminded him that he had a headache. He wanted to run, but the weight of the elephant held him down. Why had mama left him here alone?_

_He began to whimper a little as he continued to search for her. He wanted to be brave, like his brother Donnie, wanted to be a big boy, but this was all wrong. It was too much. Without thinking about it he knew that there had been 317 faces he had looked at, and none of them belonged to his mother. 1,225 colorful pennant flags hung from a rope strung around the top perimeter of the circus tent. A second clown, this one selling peanuts, appeared behind the first and dropped the bag he was extending toward Charlie. 37 dry roasted peanuts — in the shell — spilled onto the hard-packed dirt beneath his feet, and when Charlie looked at them he saw a line of 23 ants marching by._

_He had to stop counting — it was making his head hurt worse — but he couldn't. He wasn't doing it on purpose. The elephant shifted its weight a little but still wouldn't get off his chest. It seemed to be leaning back, as if he were a lounge chair, and its broad gray back blocked his vision a little. He would never find his mother now. He would never get out from under this elephant, and he was hot. He was hot. He wanted his mother. He was hot, and the elephant was hurting him and the clown was leaning over, leering at him, trying to touch him…_

_Charlie wondered what it would take for him to die._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Mmmmm…"

Don looked up quickly from the morning newspaper in his lap, at Charlie's face, didn't see anything new and looked across the bed at his father. "Did you just hear something? Or say something yourself?"

Alan dropped his section of the paper on the floor, almost spilling the coffee cup sitting there already. "I thought that was you!", he said, and pushed himself quickly out of the chair to approach the head of Charlie's bed. Don was soon at the other side.

"Charlie…Buddy…you awake?"

"Mmmmmm…" The eyes stayed closed, but the sound was definitely louder, and definitely coming from Charlie. Don smiled in relief.

"Son, wake up." Alan was talking now. "It's all right, Charlie. Donnie and I are here."

Don could see movement behind the eyelids. "Can't…" A word, barely, escaped Charlie. It sounded like it hurt to talk, and Don thought about giving him some ice chips, but decided he wasn't awake enough yet.

"Yes, you can, Charlie. Come on. It's okay to wake up now."

"Clown. Hot."

Alan's eyes met Don's in a question. Clown? He straightened from his leaning position over the bed. Well, at least he could deal with hot.

Alan stepped into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth with the coldest water he could, then came quickly back to the bed and began to bathe Charlie's face. He frowned. Charlie was hot. Very hot.

Charlie leaned into the coolness. "Find Mama," he mumbled. A wince of pain crossed his features, his eyes almost opened and he seemed to be trying to move. "Clown", he said again, and Don could hear the fear in his voice.

He remembered, then, a birthday party for a cousin the two of them had gone to, before Charlie was even old enough for school. There had been a clown, and Charlie had hidden under the dining room table for hours. "Charlie, it's okay. The clown is gone. You can come out now."

Alan glanced at Don and then back at Charlie, saw his eyelids flutter a little. Charlie tried to take a deeper breath, but grimaced and it turned into a groan. He sought out the cool washcloth again. "Forgot his elephant," he whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Charlie woke up again.

There was no comfort, in his world.

He couldn't stay awake, he couldn't stay asleep.

This time he only saw Don looking at him. He couldn't find his father.

Don grinned. "Hey. You've been out a few hours."

What? Hadn't it only been a few seconds?

Don got up and took a cup off the bedside table and spooned some ice chips into Charlie's mouth. Charlie closed his eyes and let them melt, and then Don gave him some more, frowning when his hand touched Charlie's cheek. He was still burning up. Weren't all of these antibiotics ever going to work? Poor kid had been consumed with fever since before he woke up, almost 12 hours ago.

Charlie shook his head when Don touched his lips with the spoon again, and looked at him through eyes at half mast. "Dad?"

Don set the cup down and pulled the chair he had been sitting in closer to the bed and sat down again. "It's late, Buddy. Almost 11 at night. I talked him into going home for a few hours."

"How?"

Don grinned. "Had to agree to spend the night with you — at least until he gets back. I hope he can get some sleep, but I fully expect to see him again within three or four hours."

Charlie frowned. "No."

Don leaned forward a little. "What's wrong?"

Charlie's eyes drifted shut again. "Need…your sleep. You go."

Don rubbed a hand up and down Charlie's arm. "No, Charlie, it's okay. I've got a lot of time backing up, I need to take some anyway. The team knows I won't been in this week."

Charlie shifted a little and opened his eyes again. It seemed to take him a while to focus on Don. "Dad mad?"

Don straightened a little, wondering how he could have figured that out, then finally decided his brother was asking if Dad was mad at him. "He's all right. He's worried. We'll talk about that later."

Charlie's eyes opened a little wider. "About what?" He shifted again. "I'm sorry." He tried to lift a hand, but one was being held down by Don, and the other was way, way too heavy.

Don read Charlie's body language and reached for the cool washcloth, began gently bathing Charlie's face again. "Shhh, Charlie, don't worry about it. Everything is okay, now." Don almost hated himself for the next thing he said. He should give Charlie a little more time, to get stronger. "Buddy…Charlie, you know I love you, right?"

Charlie eyes has lost their focus on Don, and he tried to search out Don's face again. Finallly, he found him and looked at him, confused. "What?"

Don put the washcloth back in the basin of cool water and sat back a little in the chair. "Just…just don't do this again, okay? Don't pull a Lone Ranger on us, Charlie. Let me be your brother."

Charlie blinked a few times, and then Don was terrified to see a tear sliding out of one eye and down his brother's cheek. He leaned forward again quickly and caught it with his hand. "Hey, don't, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Charlie inhaled as deeply as Don had seen him manage since the surgery and shuddered a little. He closed his eyes and leaned his head toward Don's hand. "Long Ranger had Silver," he said.

Don grinned. "Are you calling me a horse?"

Charlie grinned a little too, although he kept his eyes closed. "Sorry. You wanna be Tonto?"

Damn. Charlie's face was so hot. Don reached for the washcloth again. He tried to keep his touch gentle and his voice soothing. "Sure, Charlie, I'll be Tonto," he said quietly. "Go back to sleep. Tonto keep watch, kemosabe."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_At least the elephant was gone, now, having been replaced by a much smaller animal. Or perhaps a Volkswagen Bug._

_Charlie looked around tentatively, afraid to see the clowns again, but then he noticed that he wasn't at the circus anymore. All the other people were gone. Even the Ring Master was gone. He seemed to be standing in the desert…Death Valley or something. The sun was at its zenith in the sky and beat down upon him relentlessly. Sweat rolled into his eyes as he looked down and saw that here, in the middle of the desert, there was a campfire — and he was standing in the middle of it. Flames licked at his feet, his legs, his arms, his torso, his face… Looking through them he could see the outline of someone standing in front of him with a bucket. He couldn't be sure, the sweat in his eyes and the flames distorted everything, but it looked like Donnie. Whoever it was prepared to douse the flames with whatever was in the bucket, and Charlie looked forward to it eagerly. But when the water hit him, it was hotter than the fire, hotter than the sun. It blistered his skin and Charlie hoped that he would melt into the flames. Anything. Just let it be over._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"He's so restless," Alan fretted.

He stood at the head of Charlie's bed, and smoothed the sweaty curls off his son's forehead. "And so hot. This fever is much too high."

Don stood on the other side of the bed, his hand resting lightly on Charlie's arm. Even the arm was hot. "I know. It's been like this for 24 hours. Dr. Reynolds was here just before you came back. He said that's why they're continuing the morphine, they want to keep him sleeping as much as possible. And they changed one of the antibiotics."

Alan reached a hand out and Don automatically retrieved the washcloth from the basin that was nearest to him and gave it to his father. Alan began to bathe Charlie's face. He spoke quietly. "Well," he said, "you know the deal, Don. Time for you to go home and get some rest."

Don rubbed his brother's arm, reluctant to leave. "Right," he answered, and stayed exactly where he was.

Charlie shifted in the bed and tossed his head on the pillow. He cracked his eyes open, saw Don and closed them again. "Wrong bucket," he whispered, and Don looked at his father.

Alan shrugged. "Don't ask me," he said. He continued to stand over Charlie as Don sat down again.

"Charlie? Do you need a bucket, Bro?"

Charlie turned toward the voice and tried to open his eyes again. The eyelids fluttered a little and then he gave up. "Please," he said.

Don looked at Alan again. "Do you think he feels nauseous?"

Alan kept working with the washcloth. "I don't know. Maybe we should have something just in case."

Don opened the bedside table and rummaged inside until he found an emesis basin, then placed it on the top of the table where Alan could easily reach it. "I've got it, now, Charlie."

This time Charlie managed to open his eyes and he looked pleadingly at Don. "Try sand this time," he said, and his eyes drifted shut again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Don couldn't stop smiling.

He stood in the doorway of his brother's room. Charlie was staring blearily at him from the bed, having just complained that Alan's snoring was keeping him awake — and if he had to lie here listening to Dad snore, why couldn't he have something to eat?

The world was full of good signs.

If Alan felt at ease enough to fall asleep, Charlie must be better.

If his brother felt like complaining about something, Charlie must be better.

If his brother wanted something to eat, Charlie must be A LOT better.

All of this in the five hours Don had been gone. He wanted to find out who had been responsible for developing this newest antibiotic, and send everyone on the research team flowers.

He crossed the floor to the bed, still smiling, and confirmed his suspicion with his own hand against Charlie's forehead. His smile faltered a little. "You're still pretty warm."

"Down almost 4 degrees," protested Charlie weakly. "Give me a break."

Don's smile broadened again and he sat in the chair in which Alan wasn't snoring. He held Charlie's gaze. "So you're feeling better."

Charlie nodded carefully. "They took my morphine drip," he said, adding, "and they say I have to sit up later. Can they do both of those things at the same time?"

Don kept grinning. "Yeah, Bro, I'm afraid so. I'm sure they'll give you something else. Demerol, or something."

They were silent for a while, Don still grinning like a mad man.

Charlie yawned. "What exactly happened?"

Don felt the grin leave his face. "Perforation," he answered. "Something not cool with the ulcers you didn't tell us about."

Charlie yawned again. "I'm so tired…"

Don leaned forward in the chair a little. "I'll bet. You should rest. We can talk later. Tomorrow."

Charlie looked at him. "Did I do something wrong?"

Don cursed himself silently. "No, Charlie, everything's okay. You just need more rest, now. I'm saying I'll be here later, when you wake up."

Charlie smiled a little dreamily as his eyelids grew heavy. "'Kay, Tonto."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dr. Reynolds stood just inside the door and watched the three of them sleep. At least two of them were snoring, and he made a mental note to suggest sleep apnea studies. He looked at his watch. Nearly 6 0'clock. He spoke quietly to the nurse beside him. "Oh, go ahead and let it go, for tonight. The sleep will do him more good. Just get me another set of vitals before you go off duty and be sure to tell the next shift I want him up for breakfast. Gelatin." He grinned at her. "Breakfast of champions."

She grinned back. "What should I do with his father and brother?"

He considered, finally sighed. "Just keep the door closed. I don't want their snoring to keep the entire floor awake."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan's head lolled sharply to the side, off the edge of the chair, and the resulting jerk woke him up. In the darkness of the room he was unsure at first where he was. He heard Don's soft snore and saw the strip of light under the closed door at the same time, and sat up a little in the chair. They must have both fallen asleep in Charlie's room, and the hospital staff had let them stay. It was obviously very late…

He stretched cramped muscles and stood slowly. He needed to use the restroom. But first, he needed to check on Charlie.

His eyes saw more in the darkness now, and he was able to make out his son's sleeping face. He touched Charlie's forehead lightly and was pleased to find that since breaking that afternoon, the fever had not begun to climb again. Alan looked around. Donnie was asleep in the chair on the other side of the bed. His hand was threaded through the bed rails and lay loosely on top of Charlie's.

Alan rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes watered as he remembered some of the things he had said to Donnie, the way he had treated him. He felt horrible. In the beginning, a child himself, Don had been a reluctant brother's keeper. Then there had been years of separation, and when he had first returned to L.A., things were strained between the brothers, and complicated by their mother's illness. But they had worked through that, both of them, and the last few years had been full of moments that made Alan so proud, made him wish so badly that Margaret could see them…

He had let his fear for Charlie cloud his judgment and control his tongue. He looked down at his shoes and sighed, brought his eyes back up to find Donnie staring at him.

"Is he okay?", his son whispered.

Alan nodded. "Let's both go home for a few hours and get some real rest," he whispered back, and Don stretched and rose from the chair. He, too, touched Charlie's forehead briefly. Apparently satisfied, he met his father at the end of the bed. He was still glancing over his shoulder at Charlie, and was surprised and nearly taken off his feet by his father's sudden frontal attack. Alan's arms encircled him and drew Don close. One hand moved to the back of Don's head, and he heard his father speaking lowly into his ear. "I'm so sorry, Donnie, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I don't really believe those things. You're a good son, a good brother. You make me proud."

Don felt himself relaxing into his father's embrace and the stress of the last few days threatened to break him apart. He squeezed his father hard, and turned his head so that he could speak into Alan's ear. "It's okay, Dad, it's okay. There's nothing to forgive. I love you, too."

Charlie watched them from the bed and wondered what had happened while he'd been out. Whatever it was must have been bad, and his heart ached for both of them, then lightened as they continued to hold each other. He smiled slightly, but as they began to break apart he closed his eyes quickly, so that they wouldn't know he was watching. He played the scene over in his head, and let it warm him in a way the fever never had. He sighed a little and shifted on the bed, and before his father and brother had left the room, Charlie was back in a deep sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: An extra for you tonight, because I will be away from my 'puter for approximately 24 hours, and you must wait…Don't say I never gave you anything!**

**Chapter 8**

Alan fussed at Don in the elevator. "We shouldn't have been gone so long."

Don watched the floors disappear. "It's only been seven hours, Dad. We were obviously tired."

"We never should have gone off our split schedule. Then Charlie wouldn't have been here alone."

The doors of the elevator opened and Alan hurried out and started down the hall. Don found himself rushing to keep up. "I'm sure he's okay. The hospital would have called."

"He still felt a little warm. The fever never let go completely, and it could start to climb again."

Don got close enough to clap a hand on his father's shoulder. "Then he should sleep. That's what his doctor said."

They turned another corner and Alan quickened his pace even more. Don's hand fell away. Alan pushed the second door open and froze just inside. Don had been distracted by the glint of a gum wrapper on the floor. He was looking down at it and was unprepared for Alan's sudden stop. He found his forward progress abruptly halted, and his head slammed into his the back of his father's. Don put out a hand out to steady them both and tried to peer around Alan's shoulder. "What?"

Maybe he'd hit his head on Alan harder than he thought.

Charlie appeared to be sitting in a chair next to the bed, pushing forlornly at a dish of green gelatin with a spoon. He seemed to be trying to kill it.

"Holy shit," Don said.

Alan automatically responded. "Language, son."

Neither one of them moved until Charlie looked away from the gelatin and toward them. "Are you coming in?"

The two floated across the room in a trance and sat together on the edge of the bed. Charlie regarded them tiredly for a moment and then smiled. "You guys are funny. Like you're connected at the hip, or something."

Alan stood back up, leaned over Charlie and kissed the top of his head. Then he dragged the other chair over so it was facing Charlie and sat down. "Look at you," he smiled. "Look at you."

Charlie dropped the spoon and leaned his head back against the chair. "You should have seen me earlier. I was in the Boston Marathon."

Don laughed. "You walked, right?"

"All the way to the bathroom," Charlie answered proudly.

Don heard the unsaid words. "What about all the way back, Chuck?"

Charlie reddened a little, picked up the spoon and concentrated on the gelatin. "I may have needed a ride back." He dropped the spoon on the rolling table in front of him again.

Alan frowned. "You have to do more than pick up the spoon, Charlie. There's only one bite of that missing."

"I don't like green. I had some orange, earlier…but they don't have any more."

Alan studied him. "Honestly? Earlier today, you mean — not at some point earlier in your life?"

Don suppressed a smile and Charlie sighed. "Honestly, Dad. It's almost 10:30, I've had at least a whole day, already."

Alan nodded. "I told your brother we should have set the alarm."

Charlie's head began to loll a little against the chair. He yawned. "Dad. It's okay. I'm okay."

Don had been watching, and he was starting to wonder. "How long have you been up? Do you still have a fever? How's the pain level? Do you want something else to eat — or drink? Some juice, maybe?"

Charlie's eyes had closed, but he smiled tolerantly. "I said you could be Tonto, Don, not Jewish Mother." He opened his eyes and looked at Alan. "I've got one of those already."

"Hey!", Alan protested.

"I didn't say you weren't good at it!" Charlie yawned again.

Alan smiled and was about to echo at least three of Don's questions when the door opened and a nurse entered. She smiled at Alan and Don. "Good morning, gents. I'm Cecile, Charlie's nurse this morning," The men smiled at her and Alan introduced himself and Don as she approached the bed. She shook each man's hand as she passed, then stood over Charlie and appraised him with a practiced eye. She made a decision. "Charlie's been sitting up for almost 20 minutes. I'm going to help him back to bed and let him get some rest before this afternoon." She grinned at Charlie. "We're going for 30, then. And you walk both ways to the bathroom!"

Don stood up. He indicated the gelatin. "Is that all he can have?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know, I know — he hates green. The kitchen assures me there will be other flavors by afternoon. If he tolerates the gelatin all right, we may try a broth for dinner, but for now…"

Alan stood and joined Don. "We'll step outside…"

She stopped him. "If it's all right with Charlie, you can stay. I can teach you how to help him transfer in and out of the bed."

Charlie nodded wearily, and the nurse rolled away the table and showed Don and Alan where to hold Charlie to help him stand. Don kept watching his face instead of the nurse and frowned at how pale he became on the way up.

"That's going to hurt for a few more days," the nurse said sympathetically, having apparently seen the same thing as Don. "So let him stand here for a second and catch his breath before you move on to the second part of the operation." Presently Charlie gave another brief nod and Cecile helped him pivot and sit on the bed, then lifted his legs in for him. He reclined carefully back against the pillows and she arranged the sheet over him. She smiled and placed her fingertips against his wrist, looking at her watch. After a few seconds she moved her fingers and went for the curly hair, brushing it off his forehead a little. Don was just thinking about how that curly hair could reduce even a professional nurse into…into…_into a woman_…when he figured out she was checking Charlie's fever. Damn. She was good. Her fingers lingered on Charlie's forehead and Don refocused.

"How's that gelatin sitting?", she asked. "The orange stuff. I see that you really don't like green."

Charlie grinned up at her. "Okay. I don't think it's going to reappear any time soon."

She smiled, took her hand from his forehead and reached into the pocket of her uniform, withdrawing a thermometer. While she ejected the sterile covering and placed it in his ear, she continued to talk. "How's the pain? I could talk to the doctor about upping the Demoral."

She withdrew the thermometer and Charlie shook his head. "I'm okay."

Alan could see the display from where he stood behind her. He spoke in a worried voice. "101? Isn't that higher than it has been?"

She patted Charlie on the shoulder and tried to turn to leave, but Alan was crowding her and had to step back first — but he wasn't doing it until she answered. She looked at Charlie. "Quite an advocate you have here."

Charlie was already almost asleep. His eyes were closed, but he managed to mumble "Dad…"

Alan smiled apologetically at Cecile and took a step back. "I'm sorry. But it is higher, right?"

"Only one degree, Mr. Eppes, and that's not unusual after the first time up, the first time walking, the first time eating. His temp did drop as low as 100 last night — a huge, 5-degree drop in just a few hours, and that's great. He's still on the antibiotic cocktail, but because of the ulcers we're avoiding things like Tylenol, so it may take a few days for things to level out to normal. Don't worry. I'll keep my eye on this." She touched his arm reassuringly as she squeezed past and gave him one last smile.

"Thank you, Cecile. I appreciate it." Alan watched her leave and then looked at Don. "I didn't see a wedding ring."

Don groaned. "Dad…she's a nurse. She's not going to wear her ring at work."

The two began to rearrange the chairs around Charlie's bed. "I'm just saying. It wouldn't hurt to find out if she's available. She's a lovely young woman."

"You saw her playing with Charlie's hair. I think you're talking to the wrong son."

Alan sat, took a book of crosswords off Charlie's bedside table and opened it. "She seemed to spend longer than was necessary shaking your hand, Donnie. Your brother is temporarily out of action. You have to take advantage of these situations."

Don grabbed the newspaper and sat down in a huff. He looked at his father. "So you're saying I can't get a girl to choose me over Charlie as long as he is conscious?"

Alan peered over his glasses. "No, Donnie, I'm not saying that at all." He stared at his son intently for a moment, and then Don saw a glint in the old man's eye. "Actually, Don, yes. That's exactly what I'm saying." He looked down and smiled into his crossword puzzle. "Go ahead. Prove me wrong."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Charlie had slept solidly for two hours, and Cecile was back three times while he was out. He never even stirred when she would check his temperature, and the third time, instead of watching silently from the chair, Don stood and walked to the other side of the bed, so he could face her. He crossed his arms. "Is there a problem?" Alan had left a few minutes earlier to run down to the cafeteria and bring them back some lunch, and Don figured this was as good a time as any.

She tore her eyes away from the digital readout on the thermometer and looked at him, smiled a little grimly. "The fever is climbing rather quickly. I've notified Dr. Reynolds."

"What is it?"

She pocketed the instrument. "103."

Don just looked at her. Maybe Charlie was the math genius, but even he knew that a degree up every hour wasn't good.

She turned for the door. "I'm getting his next dose of Demerol. It's a few minutes early, but the fewer resources he spends fighting pain, the more he'll have left to fight the infection."

Don nodded his thanks and continued to stand over the bed. He must have stared too hard at Charlie and awakened him, because pretty soon his brother moved a little. His hands worked on top of the sheet and he cracked glassy eyes open.

Don reached for the cup of water on the bedside table and offered Charlie a drink. Charlie sipped weakly at the straw for a moment, then let his head fall back on the pillow. "Thanks." He sounded exhausted.

Don replaced the glass and leaned over the rail. "You okay, Buddy?"

Charlie started to nod his head and stopped when Don put a hand on his arm. He looked first at the hand, then into Don's face. "Truth, Charlie. New family policy."

Charlie blinked at him. "I'm a little cold," he finally said.

Don nodded and started to massage his brother's arm. "Anything else?"

Charlie swallowed and closed his eyes. "My stomach hurts."

"Inside or out? I mean, is it a 'I'm going to lose my orange gelatin all over the bed' hurt, or a sore incision hurt?"

Charlie turned a little green and Don had his answer. He looked around for the emesis basin, spotted it, then looked back at Charlie. "Cecile is getting you some Demerol right now. You'll feel better soon."

Charlie sighed. "Is there a…never mind…"

Don frowned. "What? Is there a what?"

Charlie opened his eyes again. "Blanket. I was going to ask for a blanket. But I'm hot, now."

Cecile bustled back through the doorway, bearing a syringe and a small plastic bag that she piggybacked onto Charlie's IV. Then she began to inject the contents of the syringe into the IV port. She smiled at Charlie while she did it. "Dr. Reynolds called. He's ordered a new antibiotic. That's what's in the bag I just hung."

Don nodded toward the syringe. "Demerol?"

She nodded. "Right." She pulled out the syringe and walked to the far wall to place the needle in the sharps container. She came back to the bed and touched Charlie's wrist, regarding her watch for a few seconds. Soon she lowered her watch hand, but instead of removing the fingers of her other hand from Charlie's, she let them circle his lower arm. "Are you upset, Charlie? Your pulse is pretty rapid."

He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at either of them. They were both sliding out of focus, anyway. "I just don't feel good," he mumbled.

She stood for a second and seemed to be considering. Then she looked at Don. "I'll be right back. I think I have something in my locker."

After she left, Don started to wander away from the bed, but heard a low moan come from Charlie, so he went back. "Charlie?"

His brother kept his eyes closed. "Spinning," he whispered.

Don decided to stand within reach of the emesis basin. Within minutes Cecile was back, carrying an ipod. She reached to settle the earphones over Charlie's ears and he opened his eyes again, startled.

"You can borrow this for awhile," she explained. "I've got it on my 'I really feel like crap today' playlist. Jim Brickman, John Tesh, Kenny G…or do you hate that kind of music as if it was green gelatin?"

Despite turning a little green again himself at the mention of gelatin, Charlie smiled and shook his head. "This is nice," he said softly, and his eyes closed. "Thank you."

Cecile smiled at Don, who smiled back and decided that maybe his father was right about this one. She glanced at her watch again. "I'm going on my lunch break," she said, "but just call the nurses' station if you need anything." She started for the door and checked her watch again. "Andrew is going to kill me. I'm late again." Don watched her leave and hung his head.

Andrew. Just his luck.

He stood over the bed until he heard Charlie's breathing even out, and was headed for a chair again when the door opened and his father walked in carrying a bag and two coffee cups. Don rolled the table in between the two chairs and helped his father set things down.

Alan saw the ipod, and also Charlie's flush. He looked at Don in concern. "Did something happen?"

Don thought about not telling him, but stopped himself as soon as he realized what he was thinking. He had told Charlie the truth. He wanted honesty to be a new family policy. He sat down and opened the bag, took out a sandwich. "His fever is climbing, again. Dr. Reynolds ordered a new antibiotic — up to four, now — and Cecile gave him some Demerol and loaned him her ipod. He just fell asleep, again."

Alan wandered over to the bed and stood over his son, put his hand out as if to touch him and drew it back again. He didn't want to wake him. He stood there for a moment, then thought 'the hell with it', and reached out his hand again. He smoothed some curls off Charlie's forehead. Then he wandered back to the sandwiches, sat down and looked at the one Don had left him.

He really wasn't all that hungry, anymore.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_The furnace was on the fritz, again. It must be stuck in the 'on' position. The house was unbearably hot. It got hotter the closer Charlie got to the furnace, he noticed as he descended the basement stairs. He removed the front panel so that he could hit the reset button, but was shocked to see that Jim Brickman was sitting in the furnace, playing a piano. Charlie couldn't figure out how he had gotten in there, or how he could stand being that close to the heat. He was sweating just standing here on the outside. He was sure the heat was affecting the instrument, because the music didn't sound right. The piano looked expensive, and Charlie found himself feeling sorry for it. The discordant notes were starting to hurt his head, and he leaned the panel against the wall so that he could put his hands over his ears._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don was leaning back in the chair, his feet up on the end of Charlie's bed, and he saw his brother toss his head on the pillow and reach in his sleep for the headphones of the ipod, so he managed to lean forward and catch it as Charlie threw it off.

"Stop it," his brother mumbled, and Don checked his face again to make sure that he was asleep.

"Uh-oh," grunted Alan, standing from his chair and heading for the bathroom. "We put that basin of cool water away too soon."

Don placed the ipod on the table and stood, leaned over the bed rail again. He watched Charlie silently, watched his father silently when he came back with the basin of water and set it down, and drew out the washcloth to start bathing Charlie's face. Charlie turned away from it. "Piano's on fire," he said into the pillow. "Call 9-1-1."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Charlie opened his eyes, although it seemed to take him forever to do it.

He couldn't remember ever feeling so tired in his life.

He couldn't remember ever having to use the bathroom so badly in his life, either.

He looked around for his brother, or his father. Daylight still spilled through the window, so he didn't think they would have gone home, yet. He didn't have a watch on, so he didn't know what time it was. His stomach growled, then burned. That was an ulcer thing he was supposed to get used to recognizing. He needed to eat frequently.

He lay on the bed and considered that. He might be able to eat something. He didn't really feel like he was going to lose this morning's gelatin, anymore.

He tried to sit up a little, then remembered the bed controls and moved the bed up instead. He pushed the button for the nurse. He really had to go. He waited a few moments, and no one responded. He tried to see the controls better. Maybe he had done something wrong. He tried again.

Finally, Charlie reached his arm over the bed rail and released it, watched it slide down. He threw back the sheet and willed himself to move.

He was sort of afraid. Not because of the pain — that was bearable. He was afraid that in moving, he would put pressure on his bladder and pee all over the place. Maybe it was a good thing no one was here to see that, after all.

He was tethered to an IV pole, but he was glad to see that it was a rolling one that sat beside the bed. He took a breath and swung his legs over the side.

He sat on the edge of the bed until his head cleared a little, then pulled the IV pole toward him and used it for leverage, pulling himself into an upright position.

He almost collapsed back onto the bed and just let himself go. This was surely going to kill him.

Charlie thought about it. He could die in a pool of his own pee, or he could die trying to be a man.

No contest.

He took a tentative step, and was relieved when one foot automatically followed the other, as if he had been walking most of his life, or something. Haltingly, he alternately pushed and pulled the IV pole along, bent at a 30-degree angle, taking ridiculously small steps. He was pretty sure it was the same day by the time he reached the bathroom.

Once inside, he continued to hold the IV stand with one hand while he stood over the toilet and did his business. He sighed audibly with release, and was glad again that he was alone.

Finished, he shuffled to the sink, turned on the water and washed one hand. Then he turned it off and looked in the mirror.

Holy crap.

That was a pretty scary sight.

He thought about the trip back to bed. Maybe he should just stay here for a while. He would probably have to go again sometime.

Suddenly, the door burst open and he was nearly blown over by the force and the shock of it. He started to list dangerously to the side and felt a strong hand grasp his upper arm.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Charlie looked into the mirror again and saw Donnie.

"Waiting for you," he said.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don settled Charlie in the chair while Alan went to the nurses' station to report the non-functional call unit. "You're sure you want to sit up for a while? Geez, Charlie, six hours ago you were talking to your pillow about a burning piano."

Charlie nodded. "Just needed a little sleep," he said. "But could you sit down? Makes me a little dizzy to look up all the time."

Don sat in the other chair. He settled back and crossed one leg over the other knee, and smiled. "Damn, Charlie. Even when you're sick as a dog I can't keep up with you. I can't believe you climbed out of bed and walked into the bathroom. I'll never talk Dad into leaving for dinner again. You were supposed to sleep the rest of the night!"

Charlie, still obviously tired, perked up a little. "Dinner?"

Don's smile broadened. "You hungry?"

Charlie nodded as Alan and Cecile came through the door. Alan hurried to Charlie. "Are you all right?" He looked at Don. "Is he all right?"

Cecile was right behind him, pulling the thermometer out of her pocket. "I know I said I wanted you to walk both ways to the bathroom, but I thought you understood that I intended to go with you," she smiled.

Charlie looked up and shrugged, then brought his hand up to grasp his father's, which was on his shoulder now. "I'm fine, Dad. I tried to get help. I'm sorry."

Cecile looked at the digital display and took the few steps to the far side of the bed. She trailed the line from the call unit across the floor, then looked at the three men. "Unplugged," she said simply, and disappeared for a moment before popping back up. She pushed the button.

A voice came through the unit. "This is Mary."

"Hey, Mary, it's Cecile. I'm just testing Charlie's call unit."

"Seems to be working now."

"Unplugged. I think the bed is too far from the wall again. Anyway, thanks."

"No problem, Cece."

Charlie was leaning his face into Alan's hand a little, and Alan finally noted with a start that it wasn't burning up. "How's his temperature?"

Cecile smiled. "I love it when a plan comes together. I think Dr. Reynolds has finally hit on the right combination. It's all the way down to 99.8!" Alan smiled while she rounded the bed again. "Do you think you could handle some more gelatin? Color of your choice."

Charlie made a face. "I…" He felt his father's grip tighten on his shoulder. "Ouch, Dad…I'm hungry. I'll eat. Does it have to be that stuff?"

Cecile laughed. "Have you ever had it as a hot drink? It's really pretty good."

Charlie looked a little more interested, but still not sold.

Cecile tried again. "Okay. Clear chicken broth. Keep that down and we'll discuss one scrambled egg for breakfast."

Charlie lit up like a Christmas tree, and Cecile left, promising to be right back.

Alan left Charlie's side and sank onto the edge of the bed. He looked at his son. "Don't do things like that to me," he begged.

Charlie frowned. "I'm sorry, Dad…"

Alan waved a hand at him and smiled. "Like I could be angry at you, Little One."

Charlie smiled a little, but it soon disappeared and he looked at Don. "What day is it?"

"Thursday night, Chuck. Longest Monday you'll ever have."

Charlie grinned a little, then sank his head back and groaned.

"What is it?", Don and Alan both asked at once.

He straightened. "I'm okay, don't worry. It's just that I think I'm supposed to pick Larry up at the airport tomorrow evening."

Don relaxed and settled back in the chair again. "Is that all? Just tell me which airline and when. I'll do it."

Charlie reddened a little. "I'm sure it's in my PDA."

"And where is that, Little Bro?"

Charlie reddened some more. "Um…I'm not entirely sure…"

Don laughed. "Relax. I'll call Larry's cell."

"Oh, boy." They both looked at Alan. "You're thinking Larry will remember?"

"He's got to get the airport somehow. He must have a ticket or something to look at."

Don looked back at Charlie, who was looking thoroughly unhappy. "What?"

"I think…perhaps…it's possible I was supposed to call and remind him."

Don raised an eyebrow. "Let me get this straight. Larry asked you to call and remind him to go get on a plane."

Charlie nodded miserably. "Maybe it's in my e-mail. You could probably find my lap top."

Don finally relented and started laughing.

Alan looked at him. "What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry, Charlie. Don't worry about it. When I called Larry to ask if he could pick you up Monday afternoon, he got concerned and e-mailed me his itinerary, just in case you weren't feeling up to par by Friday."

Charlie glared at his brother. "Don, I've said it before, and I'll say it again."

Don looked at him. "What, kemosabe?"

"You." Charlie broke into a grin. "You are the best brother in the entire universe."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Despite Charlie's sudden rally, both Don and Alan were reluctant to leave that night. Every time they did, it seemed, Charlie had some kind of relapse. So they watched Charlie down most of a mug full of chicken broth, found a baseball game on the television, and watched him fall asleep in the chair. After almost an hour, Cecile tried to wake him up so that she could put him back to bed before her shift ended. It was a good thing she had taught Alan and Don how to help, though, because Charlie was having none of it. It took all three of them to get him up and into the bed. Cecile took his temperature one last time — 99.6 — and smiled at Don and Alan.

"I know it doesn't look like he needs it, but it's time for more Demerol. His fever is still reducing, and this is a real, restful sleep…not a fever-induced burning piano. When I add some more Demerol to the mix, there is no way this boy is waking up tonight. I think it's safe for you to go home."

Alan just kept watching Charlie sleep, one arm crossed across his chest and the elbow of the other arm propped in the hand, so he could cover his mouth while he regarded him. Don stood next to him and heard a slight snore; the way Charlie should be sleeping. Don leaned closer to his father. "Dad…" he spoke quietly, almost a whisper. "Just think…8 hours of sleep could be yours. All you have to do is take Door No. 1."

Alan smiled into his hand, and allowed Don to lead him from the room.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It turned out that 8 hours of sleep led to 9, which led to 10. Alan was beside himself when he awoke at 8:30, and called the hospital before he even got out of bed. He was informed that Charlie was receiving some medical treatment, but had spent a restful night and his last temperature reading had been an even 99. Alan was assured that Charlie would live until he could get there.

Nevertheless, he refused to make Don a proper breakfast, and asked him to drive through McDonald's instead. Don drew the line at that — he had called the hospital himself after his Dad had woken him up — and he insisted that they go inside.

Finally, fortified by Egg McMuffins and coffee, the two men pushed open the door to Charlie's room. Charlie looked up at them from his raised position in the bed. "I just got here," he explained, as if he were afraid they would think him lazy. "I've been up since 7." He eyed the McDonald's coffee cups suspiciously. "Where have you guys been?"

Don smiled as he approached the bedside chair he had made his own over the last few days. Charlie looked great. His hair was a little damp — must have had a shower or something — and someone had shaved him. That alone made him look 15 years younger. Plus, the rest hadn't hurt him any. "Don't be jealous, Buddy," he said, sitting down. "Your breakfast was probably better than mine."

Alan sat in the other chair and balanced his coffee on his lap. He grinned at both boys. "I'll make something nice tomorrow. Pancakes. I was in a hurry, today."

Charlie looked from Don to Alan and back again. "I was hoping you would bring me my lap top."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

While Charlie was drinking his lunch, Don finally relented and went down to the gift shop for a deck of cards, and he and Alan lost more Gin Rummy in the next two hours than he cared to think about. Charlie was back up in one of the chairs, and Don was looking forward to 2:15, when Cecile was due to come back and take Charlie for a walk.

When the door opened at 2, he thought that she was early, but it turned out to be Dr. Reynolds. He was looking at Charlie's chart, and smiled when he reached the circle of Eppes. "This all looks good," he said. "Temp is not quite normal, but hasn't been over 100 for almost 16 hours. Tolerating clear liquids well. How are you feeling?"

"Much better," Charlie answered. "Can I go home?"

Dr. Reynolds perched on the end of Charlie's bed. Don had moved nearer the top to make room for him. "Not quite yet, Charlie. I want to continue this cocktail for another 24 hours, make sure we've knocked the hell out of that infection. I'll DC the IV tomorrow afternoon, and switch you to oral antibiotics. We can go to oral pain medication on a prn basis now, if you want." Charlie nodded, and the doctor continued. "Get to Sunday morning without a spike in your temp again, and I'll release you then."

Charlie smiled. It wasn't what he wanted, but it was enough.

Dr. Reynolds took a few sheets of paper out of the chart and leaned over to hand them to Alan. "I've made a list of behavioral therapists I can recommend." Charlie stopped smiling. The doctor adopted a more serious tone. "Charlie, you know _h pylori_ isn't your only enemy. You need to find a more healthy lifestyle. Consume an ulcer-friendly diet, on a regular basis — eat up to six times a day. Exercise. Learn how to say 'no'. I understand that you have special challenges, Charlie, and that a mind like yours can be an overwhelming thing. But you need to learn how to run your life, not let it run you into the ground. These therapists can help you do that."

Charlie looked a little guiltily at Alan and then down at his lap, finally nodded slowly. "I'll go," he finally said.

Dr. Reynolds smiled and nodded, reached in the chart for another sheet of paper. "I know you've all been anxious," he began, "so I put a rush on the biopsy results. My nurse handed me the fax just as I was leaving the office. I haven't even seen these myself, yet."

Charlie suddenly paled. "Wait. Just…just wait."

He sounded a little panicked and the doctor paused. "I apologize," he said. "Perhaps you'd like to go over this privately…"

Charlie shook his head miserably. "It's…It's not that. I just wasn't expecting this. I'm not ready."

Don left his seat on the bed and squatted down in front of Charlie's chair. "Look at me," he said, and waited until Charlie met his eyes with his own fear-filled brown ones. He squeezed one of Charlie's knees through the blanket. "It's gonna be okay. No matter what. Trust me."

Alan had dragged his own chair close enough so that he could pat Charlie's arm, and then he left his hand on it. Charlie finally took a deep breath and nodded. Don stood, his knees creaking, and moved to the back of Charlie's chair, one hand on his brother's shoulder. "Okay, Doc. Let us have it."

Dr. Reynolds was momentarily distracted, and found himself wishing all his patients had this kind of support. Then he shook his head slightly and looked back down at the paper. His lips curled up in a smile. "Just as I suspected," he shared. "All samples were clear and benign of any malignancy." He looked up, smiling at them all. "Charlie, I pronounce you the proud father of a simple gastric ulcer factory."

Charlie simply sat in stunned silence as Don leaned over and wrapped an arm around his neck. He felt his father's hand leave his arm and looked toward him to see him raise it to his eyes. He tried to reach for it with his own hand, but missed because of Don's bear hug.

Alan wiped an eye and waited for his heart to stop pounding. He hadn't let himself think about this, he had distracted himself for days with the immediacy of Charlie's illness. Now his baby was getting better, and the monster was kept at bay for a little while longer.

On the second try, Charlie's hand brushed his father's, and Alan grabbed it with a grip that said he would never let go.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later, after Charlie's walk, Don talked Alan into going home for a few hours while Charlie napped. The two men stood on either side of Charlie's bed to say good-bye.

"It's been a good day," Don smiled. "Thank you."

Charlie looked confused. "For what?"

"For letting us stay here with you, even though you were scared. I mean it, Charlie, I want us to be honest and truthful with each other. I want you to let me help you with these lifestyle changes. I know I can get…single-minded, on a case. If I'm pushing you too hard, you need to let me know. Yell loud enough so that I hear you."

Charlie reddened a little and looked down at the bed. "That…that goes both ways, right?"

Don frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that sometimes, I get to be the one who helps you, right? Don't not tell me things because you're afraid I'll get frightened, or upset. Let me love you, too."

Don smiled at his little brother tenderly. "Scout's honor," he said, and Alan found himself suspended in time, having a "wish-you-were-here" Margaret moment. He had two remarkable sons.

He pulled himself together and cleared his throat. "Don't forget the old man."

Don and Charlie looked at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm just saying. No getting together to hide things from me. I'm an emotional man, I'll admit it. Especially when it comes to my boys, I wear my heart on my sleeve. You're always going to know how I feel about something. But remember, the two of you are strong men, and the fruit of my loins — where do you think you got that strength? I may be an emotional man, but I have a backbone of pure steel…especially for you. Don't be afraid to break me."

His sons regarded him silently, so Alan pushed for a commitment. "So this is a three-way deal, right?"

Don finally nodded. "That's fair."

Alan looked at Charlie, who was frowning at the bed again. "Little One. Is that such an unreasonable request?"

Charlie shook his head silently.

"Say, 'I agree, Father,'", Alan pushed.

"I agree,"Charlie said quietly, and a look of distaste crossed his features. "I was just trying not to think about your loins."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 • _EPILOGUE_**

Don and Alan relaxed in the living room after dinner, and heard the kitchen door open.

"It's about time," muttered Alan.

The door from the kitchen into the dining room soon swung wide and Charlie stepped through. He saw his brother on the couch and smiled. "Hey, Donnie!" He continued walking toward the living room.

"Hey yourself. Missed a great brisket."

"That's okay. Had cottage cheese and apple juice a couple of hours ago. You just here for dinner?"

Don grinned. "That…and maybe a case? You haven't worked with us for almost six weeks, and the team is starting to accuse me of murdering you and hiding the body."

Charlie smiled. "Is tomorrow soon enough? I'm a little tired, tonight…stressed. I've had pre-final freak-out students popping by my office all day."

Don hurried to reassure him. "Sure, Charlie, tomorrow's good. It's a financial thing, so it's not like there are bodies piling up, or anything. If you're too busy, we can use our in-house guys. You're just so much faster. You've spoiled us."

Alan watched the exchange with interest over the top of his glasses. This honesty thing seemed to be working.

Charlie yawned and stretched a little. "No, that's okay. I'm free from 10 until almost 2 tomorrow. It'll do me good to get off campus." He looked at Alan. "Um…I was actually thinking about hitting the driving range tonight. Want to come along?"

Alan almost dropped his book. "The driving range?"

Charlie smiled. "Yeah. It's…oddly relaxing. And Don tells me I'm playing in a foursome next year, so I need to work on my game."

Alan smiled and stood. "I'd love to go." He looked down at Don on the couch. "Come on, Donnie. You could use some work on your game, too."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As the three Eppes headed from the clubhouse to the driving range, they stepped aside to let a couple leaving pass. The woman stopped right in front of them.

"Charlie! You're looking so much better than the last time I saw you!"

Charlie focused on the voice and recognized Cecile, and smiled broadly. "I'm feeling good, thank you! How are you, Cecile?"

"I'm doing well," she smiled, and looked at the man beside her. "I'm sorry. This is my brother, Andrew. Charlie was one my patients a few weeks ago, and this is his father, Alan, and his brother, Don."

Andrew smiled and nodded. 'Pleasure. Nice night for the range." He looked at Cecile. "I'm sorry, sis, but we've got to get moving if I'm going to get you home and back across town to the station for my night shift." He shrugged apologetically at the Eppes. "LAPD," he said, as if that explained everything.

For Don, it did. He smiled broadly, and not just because now he recognized Andrew from a crime scene he had worked a few months earlier. He had been smiling ever since Cecile said "brother".

"I remember," he said. "The Epstein murder. You were helping work crowd control." Andrew looked at him quizzically. "I'm with the L.A. office, FBI," Don said. "We were called in on that."

Andrew snapped his fingers. "Right, right…put you in a FBI windbreaker and it all comes back to me! You work with a hot blonde, right?"

Don laughed. "Megan, or Colby?"

Andrew reddened as they all joined in Don's laughter, his sister loudest of all.

"Listen," Don said, "I'd be happy to give you a ride home, Cecile, if you'd care to stay and hit a few more."

Charlie couldn't tell who was smiling bigger — Cecile, or Alan.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Two hours later, the Eppes men escorted Cecile off the range and into Don's SUV. Then they walked together to the driver's side, and Don climbed in. "I'll see you sometime tomorrow at the office, then, right Charlie?"

Charlie hesitated a little, then nodded. Don raised a hand to his father, and before the door of the vehicle was closed, Alan heard Don talking to Cecile. "If you have time…if you're interested…I know a great little Mom & Pop that serves great apple pie." The door closed and Don started the engine, so Alan couldn't hear Cecile's reply, but he could see her smiling and nodding her head, so it looked good to him. As Don backed out and drove away with Cecile in the late spring sunset, Alan stood next to his youngest son and waved, smiling like an idiot.

Presently he heard Charlie sigh, and looked over to see him staring unhappily into the bag of golf clubs he was balancing on the asphalt in front of him. Alan had an unwelcome thought. "Charlie? You weren't…you didn't want…you and Don aren't seriously pursuing the same woman?"

Charlie looked up at him. "What? No. No. I don't think I could date a woman who has seen me the way Cecile has."

Alan smiled tentatively. "Then what's the problem?"

Charlie looked even unhappier. "It's just that Don gave us a ride here. I'm wondering how we're going to get home."

A blank look crossed Alan's face, and he was only able to utter a small, "Oh…"

"I was tired before we came out here, Dad. I don't really want to walk 13 miles carrying your golf clubs."

Alan harrumphed and grabbed the bag away from Charlie. He shouldered it and indicated a bus stop less than a block from the driving range. "We can take the bus."

Charlie protested. "The bus? I'm _tired_, Dad, I don't want to spend half an hour meandering all over Pasadena…can't we call a cab?"

Alan started walking, striding purposefully toward the bus stop. "Charlie," he said over his shoulder, "there's a fine line between honest communication and whining."

Charlie didn't answer, but he followed in his father's footsteps and smiled, and dug around in his pockets for bus tokens.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

FINIS


End file.
